


I Can't Forget (But I Don't Remember What)

by renouncingChance



Series: The Memoirs of the Tactician Robin [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-24 00:11:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2560886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renouncingChance/pseuds/renouncingChance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morgan may not be the first amnesiac the Shepherds have taken in, but that doesn't make things any easier for her when she barely even knows who she is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Extract

[An extract from the memoirs of the tactician Robin.]

 

_Even before we encountered Morgan, I was aware of her existence; or, at least, the fact that I had two daughters. Lucina had known Noire reasonably well through many years of struggle, but she could tell me almost nothing of my younger daughter, who had disappeared not long after the death of her mother and was presumed dead._

_When we finally did encounter her, her amnesia and the presence of a large group of Risen bent on killing her raised a multitude of questions which to this day remain unanswered. I have always feared what the answers to those questions might reveal, based on some inexplicable instinct. If nothing else, I have learned to trust my instincts_


	2. Father

Morgan always said that she remembered nothing before she woke up in the Ruin of Time, but that wasn’t entirely true.

The handful of memories she did have were vague and hazy, though, and they seemed… wrong, somehow. Though she had recognised her father immediately, something about him in this reality seemed different. At first she had thought it was simply that he was younger, but in truth it was something more difficult to define. Something about the general feeling he exuded, the way he spoke, the way he carried himself… even though she had no clear memories of the future Robin, she knew that something was off.

Besides that, she barely remembered her mother and sister. How could that be? She had had to concentrate very hard indeed to remember that she even _had_ a mother and a sister. Even now, she wasn’t sure that that memory wasn’t a false one created under duress. It was strange; after all, she had only been in this timeline a few weeks, and already she felt very close to both of them. So why wouldn’t she remember them?

Tharja had suggested a few concoctions and hexes that might help restore her memory, but she had turned them all down. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her mother’s remedies, it was more… actually, no, it _was_ that she didn’t trust her mother’s remedies. In the few days she had known her, she had heard more than enough from Noire about them.

There was a strange thought: she had only known her older sister a few days. Did that mean that the Morgan Noire had known was a different version of her? Did losing her memory make her a new person? It was endlessly confusing. Really, amnesia messed up your perceptions enough, without time travel being involved too.

And all that was without taking into account the nightmares. They varied every night, but they followed a rough pattern; a world that seemed covered in darkness flashes of magical light, fields littered with bodies. Risen swarmed everywhere, but they didn’t touch her. Sometimes she was standing, sometimes she was flying for some reason. But worst of all was the feeling that went along with these dreams. A feeling of emptiness, as though she wasn’t herself anymore, but some kind of Morgan-shaped shell.

There was only one place she could turn for advice: the only person she knew who had experienced losing all of their memories at once. After all, he seemed to have done well out of it.

She found her father in the strategy tent, as ever, poring over a map of Valm. He had figures ranged across it representing the Ylissean/Feroxi army, and the Valmese one. Actually, now that she looked at them, he seemed to have run out of figures for the Valmese army, and had instead attached a piece of paper with “LOTS MORE” written on it to a base and put it amongst the figures, perhaps hoping no-one would notice.

He noticed her, followed her gaze, and sighed, his mouth curling in a mischievous smile. “It gets the job done. And it’s less daunting. Besides, my arms were getting tired from moving them all around.”

Morgan nodded slowly. She had a tendency to treat everything her father said as sage advice, even when he was just being droll, like now. It was clearly a bad habit, and yet she couldn’t seem to get rid of it. As though it was built into her, somehow.

Robin motioned her to a chair, and she sat gratefully. He gazed at her a moment questioningly, before raising his eyebrows in an invitation to speak. She cleared her throat, unsure how to raise the issue.

“Father… you remember when you woke up in that field? When Chrom, Lissa and Frederick found you?”

“Well, ‘remember’ is a strong word, but yes.” Robin grinned again, but Morgan was too preoccupied to raise more than a half-hearted smile. Robin’s own smile dropped, and he sighed again, in earnest this time.

“I think I know where this is going. In truth, I’ve been expecting this conversation. You want to know how I’ve gotten by without my memories?”

“Well, yes. I suppose that’s it.” It was a start, anyway.

“I’m a little surprised. I was rather impressed by how little the amnesia seemed to be bothering you.”

“It’s not that it’s bothering me, it’s just… strange.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it would do.

Robin stared into space a few moments before speaking. “I got by… by making new memories, in a nutshell. Trite, I know, but it’s true. The past was closed to me, so I focused on the present, and the future. Maybe it was a blessing, in a way. I made friends, I focused on my work, I met your mother, and soon enough my lack of memories didn’t bother me anymore.”

Morgan nodded. The last part was almost certainly a lie, of course, but she wasn’t exactly without blemish herself on that count. And maybe there was something in what he said.

Robin, perhaps noticing that her expression hadn’t changed, rose from his seat. “It might be easier than you think. War has a way of focusing your priorities. Besides, you’re not alone in this. You’ve got comrades. You’ve got a family. You’ve got me.” He walked over and placed a hand on her shoulder. Almost unconsciously, she found herself placing her own hand over it, as if drawing from his warmth. But still…

“Everything the others say about the future…” She was so close now, so tantalisingly close to letting all her darkest fears loose. “Did I… did all that happen to me too?”

Her father surveyed her coolly for a moment. It was as if… but no, he couldn’t have known what she had been about to say, the horrible suspicions that bubbled up whenever she heard her sister’s stories about the future. Was it possible that he shared those suspicions? Did he, perhaps, suffer from nightmares too? If that were the case, she would probably never know. Most likely, like her, he was too afraid to even express it. Giving voice to something was like bringing it into reality.

“Maybe it did,” he said finally. “I don’t know. I can’t explain any of this. I wish I could. I don’t know why you’re here, or how.” He smiled. “I’m just glad you are.”

She smiled back, and this time it wasn’t tempered by fear or anxiety. It was the easy, playful smile that came so easily to her lips.

“So am I.” The truth, at last.

They ended up both falling asleep in the strategy tent, after hours of playing strategy games and discussing books. For once, there were no nightmares.


	3. Mother

After wandering for several minutes in the dark forest, Morgan still refused to admit she was lost. She could swear that _that_ tree there looked familiar, which meant that… well, it didn’t mean much really. She had never considered herself an expert on trees. She made a mental note to study up on them. Her father probably had at least one book about trees somewhere.

It had been a little over a week since her talk with Robin; a relatively peaceful week, with few nightmares, in which the giant hole where her memories should be seemed less of a problem. A week in which she felt thoroughly at ease throwing herself into life around the camp, helping out where she could, or simply brightening people’s days.

Perhaps she had been a little over-eager, though. After all, Noire probably didn’t really _need_ those herbs she was musing aloud about; or, at least, not right now, when everyone was going to bed. In Morgan’s imagination, her sister’s look of joy when she triumphantly returned holding fistfuls of the herb was slowly morphing into a look of concerned relief mixed with the inevitable inquiry as to where on _earth_ she’d been.

Hold on… was that a sound? She listened intently. Yes, someone was moving quietly past the next patch of trees. This was either an opportunity to be a bandit-thwarting hero, or to get back to camp. She gave some brief thought to which she’d prefer, and decided, grudgingly, on the latter. She crept carefully in the direction the sound had come from, taking care not to make any sound in case it really was some large brute with an axe. Who wasn’t Vaike. Or Gregor.

When she saw Tharja bent over a clump of herbs, she breathed a loud sigh of relief. Her mother instantly turned around, sparks of dark magic dancing around her hands and fires burning in her eyes. When she saw Morgan, she sighed, and the magic vanished.

“You ought to be more careful. You were about to get hexed into the middle of next week. Literally.”

Morgan opened her mouth, then shut it again. She had no idea what to say. If she came straight out with “Do you know the way out of here?”, then that would be tantamount to admitting she had been lost, which wouldn’t do. Then again, “Hello Mother, fancy meeting you in a remote forest clearing on a moonless night” would probably demand further explanation.

Suddenly it came to her. “Noire was looking for a herb. I came out here to find it.” The truth, or some of it anyway.

Tharja raised an eyebrow. “What herb?”

“Ah.” Yes. Good question. “I think it was… rosemary? No, thyme! Definitely thyme.”

“And what does thyme look like?”

“It’s, er… green?” Morgan shifted uncomfortably. “I know what it looks like chopped up.”

Tharja rolled her eyes, though Morgan thought she could detect a hint of amusement. “Fine. I’ll help you look. Better than you stumbling around the place all night.”

She stuffed the herbs and mushrooms she was holding into a pouch at her waist, and motioned Morgan to follow. They scoured the ground for some minutes, conjuring small flames in the palms of their hands to see by. After some minutes Tharja’s eyes flickered sideways to her daughter.

“It’s all right to seek solitude, you know. In fact, usually it’s better than having imbeciles bother you over trifles all day long.”

Morgan almost jumped at the unexpected outbreak of conversation. “No, it’s not like that. I like trifles. In every sense. And I wanted to help Noire out.”

“I’m sure. But not just out of the kindness of your heart, right?”

Morgan frowned and looked over at her mother, who smiled. “I’m the expert on ulterior motives.”

“No, no, I really _do_ want to help her, but…”

“It’s because of your memories, isn’t it?”

This time Morgan really did give a start, and stopped in her tracks. Tharja shrugged.

“Your father does talk to me, you know. Besides, it doesn’t take a genius.”

Morgan stared into the trunk of a tree, as if trying to unravel the patterns in the bark. “It… doesn’t feel right. Everyone else who came back from the future is so relieved, so overjoyed to be back with their parents. Even the ones who try to hide it. Especially them, in fact. But I don’t even remember that I _had_ a mother, or a sister. How can that be? How can I be part of a family that I don’t even remember?”

“I can’t say I know much about being part of a family. In the last few weeks, I’ve had two daughters show up out of the blue. Can’t say I’ve fully gotten to grips with that. Until your father came along, I never considered myself to have any kind of family. But that means I do know a lot about being alone. Being isolated. And you’re not either of those things. Everyone adores you. They can’t help it, it’s the way you are. Most of this camp would die for you. Besides, memories aren’t everything.” She grinned. “A simple hex can create false ones, or take real ones away. Or both.”

“What about restoring them?”

Tharja considered for a moment. “Not really my area. Of course… I could do a little research. But I might need an assistant.”

Morgan smiled widely. It had been several minutes since she had done so, which was an unfamiliar feeling. “Thanks, Mum!”

Tharja simply nodded, but Morgan detected the ghost of a smile on her face. Grinning to herself, she moved on through the forest, unknowingly treading on a whole growth of thyme as she went.


	4. Sister

As she lay in her bedroll, Morgan wondered if she and Noire shared a tent in the future from which she’d come. Probably; after all, if the massed armies of two countries hadn’t enough resources to allow the sisters to sleep separately, then it was hardly likely that their small group in the future had. Of course, that was assuming that Morgan had been part of Lucina’s group…

She grunted and thumped the ground beside her in frustration. In truth, whatever she told anyone, the worst part of this amnesia wasn’t that she lacked memories of her family and friends. After all, she could always make new ones, as her father had suggested. No, it was all this blasted _uncertainty_. It was the fact that those awful nightmares felt so _familiar_ , somehow. It was the fact that whenever she thought about where she’d come from, she began to feel nauseated and slightly faint. It was the fact that a large force of Risen had tried to kill an amnesiac teenage girl from the future wearing her father’s ill-fitting coat, and _she had no idea why_.

“M-Morgan? Are you okay?”

The flickering light of the candle she had just lit illuminated Noire’s look of concern. Blast. Morgan realised she had hit the ground rather harder than she’d intended, which, on reflection, also explained the considerable pain in her left hand. Oh well. She wasn’t built for lies, or not outright ones at least, and surely if anyone would understand…

“I was just thinking. About where I come from.” Well, she didn’t need to know the _whole_ truth.

“Oh.” If anything, Noire now looked even more concerned. “It… it bothers you, doesn’t it? Not being able to remember?”

 “Shouldn’t it? Being the camp’s greatest mystery isn’t a barrel of laughs. I don’t know how Father ever stood it.” She sighed. “You should count your blessings. I can’t imagine what it’s like to know where you came from.”

The stricken look on her sister’s face told her this was the wrong thing to say. It took a moment, but finally her brain caught up with her mouth, crossed its arms, rolled its eyes and sighed loudly.

“Oh… Oh, I’m so sorry, Noire. I didn’t mean…”

“No… no, it’s OK.” Horror was still written all over Noire’s face, but now she looked thoughtful as well. “Maybe… there’s something to that.”

“Wait, really?” Usually when she put her foot in her mouth, people didn’t _agree_ with her. Was her sister just being a bit too nice?

“Well, I mean… maybe _you_ should count your blessings?”

Noire paused, as though afraid to continue, so Morgan nodded at her to do so.

“Well, I mean… you’re assuming your memories were taken from you somehow. But what if you didn’t lose them so much as… get rid of them? Maybe you deliberately suppressed them. Maybe you _wanted_ to start anew.”

Morgan knew the answer already, but she had to ask: “Why would I do that?”

“Memory… isn’t always a blessing.” Noire stared into the candle flame. “Sometimes I… envy you. Just a little. I saw so many awful things…” Her gaze flickered back to her sister. “It’s true that you don’t remember Mother, but that also means you don’t have to remember how she died-”

Noire paled and clapped her hands over her mouth. “Oh gods, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to sound so callous! I know you didn’t really _choose_ to forget-“

“But maybe I wanted to.” Morgan nodded. “I think you could be right.”

Noire still looked to be in self-flagellating mode, so Morgan extended her arm, placing her hand gently over her sister’s.

“I think I get it,” she said thoughtfully. “Maybe… I am lucky. I mean, I get a blank slate, a new beginning. Maybe this is an opportunity. I can make my life into whatever I want it to be.”

Noire looked up, her eyes shining through the tears that had already started to form. “So… I was right? Really?”

Morgan grinned and hugged her. “Next time, don’t be so afraid to tell me this kind of thing. I’ve got to learn from you, right? You’re my big sister.”

Noire smiled. “I did become an expert on taking care of you in the future.”

“Good, because I think I really need to take lessons. Taking Care of Morgan, lesson one: don’t let her beat her head against a tent pole to try to get her memories back.”

They laughed together, free and easily, until Noire stopped short, concern written all over her face. “You… didn’t actually do that, did you?”

“No comment.”

Morgan surreptitiously brushed her fringe over to hide the bruise on her forehead.


End file.
